How I Met Your Brother
by Kampe
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has realised that Sherlock knows more people than he first thought. So of course Mycroft must kidnap them for a friendly interrogation. All six have different opinions of Sherlock. How will Donovan, Anderson, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Sarah Sawyer and Molly Hooper cope? Unfortunately for them Mycroft has no idea what most of New Scotland Yard think of his little brother.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Sherlock, all rights go to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I am not making money off this Fan Fiction.**

**This Fan Fiction assumes that only Sherlock and John have met Mycroft. I have only watched up to 'The Great Game' so I do not know if Mycroft has met any of the other characters yet. This is not a story as such, more like a collection of small stories that all have one thing in common: Mycroft Holmes.**

**Based: April-Just after 'The Great Game'**

**How I Met Your Brother**

**Chapter 1-Sargent Sally Donovan**

"Regular Speech."

_"Over the phone."_

_Note._

**_April 3rd- Day 1_**

Merry voices filled the air. People scurried along the streets as they chattered happily despite the roaring wind.

One woman, however, was curled into herself like a tortoise. Her black heels clacked on the sidewalk. She wrapped her thin, black coat tightly around herself to stave of the wind. Her curly brown hair whipped against her chocolate coloured face as he hurried home from work.

A sharp ringing from the public telephone box on her left stopped her momentarily. She swiftly moved on, ignoring the sound that had plagued her throughout her entire journey.

The phone stopped ringing as soon as someone reached for it.

The lady rushed onward.

Another impatient phone filled the air with its whingeing and the lady found that her patience had run thin. Angrily she stomped over to the phone and picked up the irritating contraption.

"Hello?" She huffed angrily.

_"Sargent Donovan, please look to your left." _A mysterious male voice answered.

"Hello, who is this?" The lady demanded heatedly.

_"Sargent Donovan, I would very much appreciate it if you looked to your left." _The man responded.

"Fine!" 'Sargent Donovan snapped furiously. "But I expect a full explanation!" She turned her head to the left and glared at the imposing building in front of her.

_"Very good, do you see the security camera?" _Sargent Donovan focused her eyes on the indiscrete lump of white and black. _"Well done, now watch." _The camera slowly swivelled around until it faced the building it guarded.

"Wh-wha-How!" The Sargent gasped.

_"Now look behind you." _Another stone building loomed behind her and once again she focused on the security camera perched upon it. _"Good, keep watching."_

The camera once again turned to face the wall.

_"Now look across the street." _Another security measure sat on the rock edifice. _"I think you know what happens next." _The camera turned away from the Sargent just as a sleek, black car pulled up in front of the phone box.

_"Get into the car Sargent Donovan."_

Donovan did not question the clear order and placed the phone down before moving to the car. A woman with chocolate coloured hair and immaculate make-up opened the door. Sargent Donovan glared at the woman, who wore a spotless business suit and pencil skirt, but slipped into the car without complaint.

The woman joined the Sargent in the car, which was now moving, and immediately began texting on her BlackBerry.

"Where am I going?" Sargent Donovan demanded rudely. "I work for the police you know! Kidnapping is a criminal offence!"

"Yes I know." The woman smirked slightly, her eyes never leaving her phone. "As for where you are going, I am afraid that I have no idea."

"Name?" The Sargent demanded irately. "Occupation? Boss?"

"I'm Anthea, at the moment." The woman's smirk grew wider. "I'm a P.A. and my boss holds a minor position in the British Government."

"Minor?" Donovan snorted. "I doubt it. No 'minor' official could've done that trick with the cameras."

Anthea's smirk was firmly stuck on her face as she texted contentedly.

"This has something to so with the Freak, doesn't it?" Donovan snarled.

Anthea's head suddenly snapped up. "Who?" She asked.

"The Freak, Sherlock Holmes." Donovan shot her a confused look.

"Right." Anthea pursed her lips and furiously typed something onto her phone. The car drew to a halt. "We're here."

Anthea, once again, stepped out of the car and yanked Donovan's door open fiercely. She scowled at the Sargent before a disturbing smirk lit up her face. Anthea gestured for the woman to move forward before taking her position beside the car.

The first thing Sargent Donovan knew was that she had been kidnapped. The second was that she was stuck in a warehouse. The third thing she knew was that her life had taken a turn for the worst.

A chair and a man greeted Sargent Donovan. The chair was black and unremarkable. It had a painted metal frame and a woven cushion. It appeared to be nothing more than a cheap desk chair you could buy in IKEA.

The man, however, was as unique as they come. He had short, straight, raven hair and pale skin. His eyes were a dark, forest green and seemed to penetrate your mind. He wore a black business suit and a blue tie with brown splodges that Donovan could not quite identify. The man was leaning on a black umbrella with crossed feet and a neutral expression.

"Ahh, Sargent Sally Donovan, how nice to meet you at last." The man stated, calmly. "Please take a seat."

'Sargent Sally Donovan' just glared at the man and stayed put, just behind the empty chair. "Who are you? What do you want?" She demanded.

"I am no-one of importance." The man's mouth quirked up at the edges to form a small smile. "All I wish to know is about your relation to one Sherlock Holmes."

Donovan snarled silently before replying. "It seems I'm not going to get a straight answer about you. Am I? As for the Freak? I could hardly even call him a colleague."

The man's smile slipped off his face and his lips became a thin, white line. "Who?" He enquired frostily.

"Sherlock Holmes, the Freak. Who else?" Donovan asked with a note of disgust in her voice.

"I would sincerely advise that you do not call him that whilst in my presence." The man's face never changed and he still glared at Donovan with unwavering intensity. "Now, how many of your co-workers share your views?"

"I'll call him what he is, a Freak. You can't stop me." Donovan smirked cruelly. "Everyone else in the yard agrees, except maybe Lestrade and Dimmock. Lestrade doesn't protest, though."

"Fine, I think we are finished here." The man scowled darkly. "Please be on your way Sargent." Donovan turned to leave, but the man's voice stopped her. "Beware Sargent Donovan; you walk on a fine thread. One day Sherlock Holmes' temper will snap and no-one will be there to catch you."

Donovan's back was still turned when she replied. "So you're saying what I've been saying all along? That one day we will turn up at a crime scene, with a dead body before us, and that Psycho will be the one who put it there?"

Anthea opened the door aggressively and Sargent Donovan slipped in. Anthea joined her in the car, which then started to pull away, and the man was left standing in the abandoned warehouse.

"Yes, actually, and it will be your body lying there."

Mycroft Holmes retrieved a BlackBerry from his one of his jacket pockets. Then he used it to text a set of new instructions to Anthea.

**Line Break**

Sargent Donovan woke up, fully clothed, on her couch. She shook her head slightly with confusion. She then blinked sleepily and frowned. The last thing she remembered was getting into that car after meeting that strange man in the warehouse.

She considered the possibility that it was a dream and she soon came to the conclusion that it was. She ignored the fact that she could not remember making it home that night and instead ambled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

The kitchen was spotless, just like the rest of her flat, and seemed to gleam slightly. She swiftly made herself a hot beverage and breakfast. After showering, brushing her teeth and changing her clothes Donovan applied her make-up and stepped out of the door.

She frowned in confusion when she could not see her car, the repair services were supposed to have delivered it today.

Donovan quickly walked down the street to where a set of double yellow lines had recently appeared. A silver BMW was perfectly parked on the double yellow lines. A yellow clamp was firmly fastened to the tyre and a small, yellow ticket was slotted innocently in the window.

Donovan grabbed the ticket and unlocked the car. She rooted around in the glove-box for a moment as she tried to find her mobile, which had mysteriously not been on her person that morning.

From the compartment she withdrew her slim, black mobile and a white slip of card. The words on it had obviously been done on a computer. Donovan's curiosity got the better of her and she scanned the card. It read:

_Your life hangs in the balance. You started the conflict and you must end it. For your own safety stop your dispute with Sherlock Holmes-M_

The wind roared and battered the car. Sargent Donovan stared at the piece of card and wondered just what exactly was going on.

**Next Time: Mycroft Holmes Kidnaps Molly Hooper.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was ever so surprised to see the amount of positive reactions this received! Since it is so well liked I decided to write another chapter sooner than expected, far sooner than expected.**

**SmilesSaveLives- Thank you for reviewing! I am so pleased that you are enjoying this fan fiction. I never expected anyone to be as enthusiastic to read the next chapter as you seem to be!**

**This chapter ends on a happier note than the previous one. Anyway, on with the story!**

**Now: Mycroft Holmes Kidnaps Molly Hooper. With guest appearances from Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson!**

**Molly Hooper**

"Regular Speech."

_"Over the phone."_

**April 4****th****- Day 2**

The morgue was sterile and white. Silver drawers held the dead and their remains. One draw stuck open, it was empty. The missing specimen was sitting on the examining table. I was partially covered in blue plastic but the head was open to the elements. Dead, hazel eyes stared blankly up at their examiner, and grey-blue eyes stared back.

Sherlock Holmes examined the murder victim in front of him. He started to prod the victim with his gloved finger.

A woman stood on the side-lines. She wore a white lab coat and was of average height. Her mousey hair fell to her mid-back and her doe brown eyes were focused on the living man in front of her.

Suddenly a cheery song broke the silence. The woman jumped slightly and Sherlock just sighed, before, without even turning around, waving his hand to shoo the woman.

She blushed a bright red before scurrying out of the morgue. She swiftly fished the phone out of her pocket and lent on the wall of a vacant corridor. Her finger inched towards the answer button but stopped after she caught sight of the caller ID.

_'Number Unavailable' _

The woman then tapped the end-call button and pocketed the phone. She turned on her heel and began to walk back to the morgue.

She made it three steps before they appeared beside her.

She was flanked by men in black suits. It was as if they had materialized out of nowhere. The woman suddenly felt like a deer in the mouth of a wolf. The woman tensed and began to run away from the men. It did not matter where; all she cared about was escaping.

Her mouth opened, prepared to release a panicked scream. Immediately a cloth-covered hand closed over her mouth and nose.

Then Molly Hooper knew no more.

**Line Break**

The black car slid smoothly down the roads of London. The driver was fully focused on his destination and one of his passengers was utterly engrossed by her phone.

The second passenger was dead to the world. She was upright and wearing a seatbelt but her head drooped forward and she breathed in a slow rhythm.

Multiple structures sped past the tinted windows. The car took a sharp turn to the right and stopped at the red lights. Pedestrians, laden with shopping bags, scurried across the busy road. The lights shone a honey colour and switched to green. The car barrelled eagerly down the roads once more.

Doe-brown eyes fluttered open as Molly Hooper began to stir. She fidgeted sleepily in her seat for a moment before bolting upright. The seatbelt dug into her chest and she was forced to relax slightly. Without even looking at the other occupants of the car she began to fiddle frantically with her seatbelt.

"That won't do you any good, you know." The other woman stated as she stared at her BlackBerry.

Molly Hooper jumped, as if she had just realised that there was someone else in the back seat with her. Ignoring the advice Molly continued to attempt to unfasten her seatbelt only to find that the mechanism was locked.

Molly took a deep breath as if to calm herself. Her hands shook with terror before she curled them into fists. Her fear dissolved into anger. Despite how she acted around one Sherlock Holmes, she was in fact a very fierce woman at heart.

"Why have you kidnapped me?" Molly asked without even a tremor of dread.

The BlackBerry-Woman, as Molly had decided to dub her, looked at Molly with surprise evident in her eyes. "You're asking the right questions, unlike the other one. If I see that one again, well, she might not come out unscathed."

Molly just raised an eyebrow. She wanted her question answered and the BlackBerry-Woman was the only one who could answer it.

BlackBerry-Woman smiled slightly. "My boss wants to ask you a few questions; I doubt that you will be harmed."

"That's very comforting." Molly responded dryly. "Anyway, I'm Molly Hooper. Of course you already knew that didn't you?"

"Yep," The BlackBerry-Woman replied. "My name is Anthea, for now."

Molly just sighed before turning her attention to a completely different topic. "So you like BlackBerrys, do you? I must say that I prefer iPhones."

"Ah, but it is much easier to text on a BlackBerry. I will admit that it can be a little cumbersome at times. Say, what do you think of the new Android?

So, the two women bonded over their love for technology. Of course, when Anthea mentioned that she had two kittens by the names of Andrea and Zack, they found that they also shared a love for cats.

I think that we can safely assume that Molly Hooper had a much more enjoyable ride that Sargent Sally Donovan did.

**Line Break**

About an hour later, the driver had been going round in circles, the black car pulled up in another abandoned warehouse

Anthea and Molly stepped out of the car; they both wore a large smile and were giggling madly. Anthea composed herself and waved Molly towards the man in the centre of the warehouse.

The man's right eyebrow was raised to his receding, raven hairline and a small smile graced his lips. His forest green eyes sparkled with mirth. The man's face became a blank mask as soon as Molly looked in his direction.

The man leaned on his signature black umbrella and gestured towards the black chair as Molly approached. Without even a nervous backward glance towards Anthea, Molly declined the offered seat and stared blankly at the Umbrella-Man, as she had decided to call him.

"Hello." The Umbrella-Man greeted.

"Hello." Molly replied.

There was an awkward silence, and anyone who was watching would have seen Anthea grin and stifle a laugh.

The Umbrella-Man coughed uneasily and began to speak. "Miss Molly Hooper, Pathologist at St. Bartholomew's morgue. You just let Sherlock Holmes view the body of one Mr Alex Erikson in conjunction to the Falafel Case."

"I did just let him view the deceased Mr Erikson," Molly responded with slight surprise. "But Falafel Case? Really?"

"Really." The Umbrella-Man confirmed. "Anyway, so Mr Holmes uses your morgue from time to time I hear?"

"Yeah, he uses the science lab too. Sometimes he tells me that my boyfriend is gay and completely ruins my relationship. Jim just disappeared off the face of the Planet..." She muttered the last bit to herself, but the keen hearing of the Umbrella-Man picked it up.

"Jim?"

"Used to work in IT, stopped coming to work two days ago. Sherlock said Jim was gay and I must admit it's a possibility."

"Last name?"

"None of your business!" Molly snapped. "Look I don't see why you need to know any of this!"

"You don't?"

"You want to kidnap Jim too." Molly breathed. "Well, good luck finding him. His last name was Thomson."

Molly glared angrily at the Umbrella-Man and he fidgeted, ever so slightly, under her ferocious gaze. There was another moment of uncomfortable silence before two mobiles broke into song. Molly blushed a beet red and the Umbrella-Man looked down awkwardly.

"Mind If I-"

"Sorry about-"

They both stared at each other in embarrassment before checking their caller ID and answering their phones.

"Hello?"They both asked.

**Molly's Phone Call**

"Hello?"Molly enquired. "John?"

_"Molly! I'm so glad you finally picked up!" _Doctor John Watson's voice replied. _"Look, you've been kidnapped by a lady with a BlackBerry and a man with a black umbrella, right?"_

"Yeah, what of it?"

_"And you're in an abandoned warehouse, right?_

"Right again. Have you been taking lessons from Sherlock recently?"

_"No time. Look, if Sherlock and I suddenly run in there try to be prepared, okay?"_

"Sure." Molly dragged out the word as she responded.

_"Great. Bye!"_

"Bye."

Molly Hooper lowered the phone whilst staring at it with disbelief. She looked at the Umbrella-Man only to find him clutching his umbrella very protectively and staring at the wall to his left, her right, with expectation. She too decided to keep an eye on that wall.

Molly was not entirely sure what to expect, but, with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson around, there was not much you could expect, except for trouble.

**The Umbrella-Man's Phone Call**

"Hello, Sherlock?" The Umbrella-Man inquired.

_"Mycroft, how is that diet coming along?"_ Sherlock Holmes asked rhetorically whilst the Umbrella-Man, Mycroft, spluttered nonsense. _"As much as I love a good bit of banter, we don't have time for that. I need your umbrella, so you may find that I have blown a very large hole in the wall to get it. Understand? Well then, goodbye, Mycroft!"_

The call abruptly ended and the Umbrella-Man began to scrutinise the wall to his left. That was the nearest side to where his CCTV had last seen Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes after all.

**Line Break**

The collapse was exactly where the Umbrella-Man had been expecting it to be. However, this did not stop him from jumping a few centimetres into the air. The left wall of the warehouse crumbled as a giant, metal, ball came swinging through it.

The bright yellow machine lumbered forward and the Umbrella-Man surveyed the rubble as if expecting a frontal assault.

Meanwhile, Molly Hooper and Anthea flinched. They also squeaked slightly, their reaction was rather tame compared to the one of the chauffer. A strangled scream, which was soon muffled, came from the car, yet no one heard it. They were all preoccupied with the giant, buttercup-coloured, demolition-machine.

After the machine began to back away, the three released breaths they did not even know they had been holding.

The hideous machine disappeared from sight and the three looked at each other.

Finally, Andrea spoke. "Sir, what was that about?"

**Line Break**

The black car slid through the streets with ease. It took back roads and short cuts that the previous driver had been completely oblivious to. Of course no one noticed the chauffer, did they? He was just another face to the three passengers. Not even Mycroft Holmes, whose skills were said to exceed his brother's, noticed the difference.

The attack on the warehouse had disturbed the Umbrella-Man, Anthea and Molly. The Umbrella-Man had immediately ordered that they changed their location and Anthea had been quick to find a new place.

Anthea sat in front, next to the driver, and Molly sat in the back next to Mycroft, who was far too important to even contemplate sitting in the front.

They were all completely silent until they pulled up in one of the lower levels of an abandoned parking lot. The click of opening doors echoed throughout the damp space.

Molly and Anthea let themselves out while the chauffer opened the Umbrella-Man's door. The chauffer took the offered umbrella as the Umbrella-Man stood up.

"This will do, I suppose. Though, I might as well just get straight to the point." The Umbrella-Man began. "Miss Hooper, will you report on Sherlock Holmes for a reasonable sum of money? Nothing uncomfortable, or personal, just his comings and goings. I do worry about him. Honestly, have you seen the amount of trouble he gets into?"

Molly barely considered the offer. She knew that the Umbrella-Man was being sincere, but, despite that, she did not wish to spy on someone she considered a 'close acquaintance'. "I am afraid that I will have to decline." Molly responded. "I do not doubt your sincerity or concern but I do not believe that it is the right thing to do."

"Never mind, I did not expect anything else, Miss Hooper." The Umbrella-Man sighed. "It seems like we must drop you off back at the morgue."

The Umbrella-Man looked around for the chauffer and his umbrella, only to find them both missing. Groaning came from the boot of the car and Anthea hurried to open it.

"Sir, I think I found the chauffer. You umbrella isn't here though."

The Umbrella-less-Man just sighed in exasperation.

**Line Break**

Anthea and Molly became steadfast friends, sharing a love for technology, cats and 'Glee'. Every Saturday, at 11:30am you will find the two women drinking a hot beverage in a quaint little tea shop.

Mycroft did not get his umbrella back for several days. Need I say that a smirk was plastered to Sherlock's face for the entire week?

**Next Time: Mycroft Holmes Kidnaps Anderson.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, this update took longer than anticipated. Anyway, this story has the most follows and favourites out of all my stories so far.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviews, reads, follows or favourites this story!**

**Review Responses:**

**Saavikam6****9- Sorry for not responding to your first review, I must have released the second chapter before you reviewed and the 30 minute update delay must have meant that the chapter did not show up. I am so glad that you are enjoying this, there is more of Mycroft's tendency to take revenge for his little brother. Please enjoy Anderson's experience.**

**Biku-sensei-sez-meow****-I am extremely pleased that you like this fanfiction. Thank goodness that this came out original and that you found it funny. I have never been particularly good at writing humour. Molly's experience showed a different side of Anthea, and Mycroft getting shown up by his younger brother is always a bonus. I hope you enjoy Anderson's experience. I, unfortunately, must plead guilty for the Matrix references this chapter.**

**Guest****-Thank you, I am really happy that you enjoyed this. I hope you like this chapter!**

**maryemarye****- Thank goodness that this story is perceived as original and as funny! As I mentioned before, humour is not my strong suit... Please Enjoy Anderson's humiliation!**

**FluffyLunaTick_-_****I am really happy that you enjoyed the second chapter. To be honest, the friendship was not in my original plans. It just happened, and then I realised that I could write a different side of Anthea! I hope that you like this next chapter!**

**Guest****-I am glad that you want to read more of my work, your review gave me inspiration to finally write this chapter. Please enjoy!**

**Anderson**

**_or_**

**The 'Arch-Enemy' Meet-and-Greet**

"Regular Speech"  
_"Over the Phone"  
'Text Message'_

**April 5****th****-Day 3**

A ridiculous looking figure ducked under the police tape. It was covered by a light blue one-piece, which would not have looked out of place in a surgery.

The man was lanky and tall. His short hair was straight and greasy, framing a pale face with sunken grey eyes.

The man, in the ludicrous blue sack, then turned around to face the crime scene, which he had just abandoned, and sighed with exasperation.

This man was part of the forensics division of New Scotland Yard, and his name was Anderson. Just Anderson, no one called him by his first name except his family.

Anderson had, once again, just been thrown out of a crime scene, which just happened to be an addition to 'The Falafel Case', by his 'arch-enemy'.

Anderson's so called 'arch-enemy' was the-one-and-only Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes.

O how Anderson _hated_ Sherlock Holmes.

The feeling was most definitely mutual.

What many forgot, however, was that Sherlock had not struck the first blow with his accurate deductions. He had not even struck the second, or the third.

In fact it was somewhere around the fifteenth blow that Sherlock struck back.

Anderson had been left reeling. The Detective's blows always hit their mark. Anderson's always seemed to hit an impenetrable shield, jarring Anderson when his attack failed.

Anderson often wondered _why_ Sherlock had struck back; Sherlock would have won if he had not finally retaliated. Anderson tried to stretch his mind back to the insult that set Sherlock off. Had he struck an emotional chord in Sherlock Holmes?

No he could not have. It was well known that Sherlock had no feelings, except maybe morbid happiness and boredom.

Despite his continuous prying, Anderson could still not remember what provoked Sherlock's reaction.

Anderson's face twisted into an ugly scowl. Then he took a deep breath to calm himself. Why, oh why, did Lestrade have to call the Freak in? They had been doing fine, absolutely fine, and this latest murder would have given them the final piece of evidence.

Then Sherlock texted Lestrade and interrupted the Detective Inspector right in the middle of a press conference. Apparently they had gotten it all wrong.

Lestrade gave in and invited the Freak into the crime scene. Anderson's dark expression now promised death as he thought about how Sherlock Holmes would steal all the glory.

Sure enough, Anderson could see the Consulting Detective himself bound happily out of the crime scene with an exasperated John Watson on his tail.

Anderson stepped forward, trying to head back to the crime scene to begin to work on finding the now non-existent forensic evidence.

Then his mobile began to ring.

Anderson growled and answered the phone. He did not even glance at his reception bar; if he had he would have seen the clearly absent mobile reception.

_"Get into the car, Mr Anderson."_ An authoritative male voice ordered.

Anderson was suddenly struck with how amusing that sounded. He half expected nearly identical men in black suits and sunglasses to come and wrestle him into a black car.

"Are you insane? Of course I am not going to get into the car!" Now anyone with a decent set of brain cells would hang up on the mysterious man. However, Anderson was said to lower the IQ of the entire street when he talked.

He had also had a report on this man from Sally Donovan just the other day, when she was late to work due to her car being clamped.

_"Either you get into the car, Mr Anderson, or we make you get into the car."_

"What car?" Anderson asked angrily.

Anderson felt a sharp prick in his neck. His vision swam and Anderson saw the two men standing above him. Their faces were similar and both work plain, black suits.

The men grabbed Anderson by his arms and heaved him into the back seat of a sleek black shape.

_'Oh that car.' _Was Anderson's last thought before darkness claimed him.

**Line Break**

Anderson groaned and his eyelids fluttered. The sedative was only just wearing off and, not that Anderson knew it, he had been unconscious for at least half an hour.

"Good to see that you have finally graced the land of the living with your presence, Mr Anderson." A female voice floated to Anderson's ears as he struggled to fully wake up.

If he had to guess, he would have said that the voice belonged to the woman that Sargent Donovan described. Anthea, was it not?

Anderson managed to sit up straight in his seat, preparing himself to ask a truck-full of indignant questions.

Then he got a good look at the woman in the seat beside him, and the words evaporated soundlessly.

Anthea, in the eyes of many, was beautiful. Anderson was no exception and he gazed at the BlackBerry obsessed woman, dumbstruck.

It was incredibly obvious as to why Donovan had neglected to mention Anthea's appearance. Fortunately, for Donovan, Anderson became extremely aware that Anthea was way out of his league.

Anderson, unlike John Watson, could not even muster up the courage to ask. So he decided to stare out of the tinted window instead of wishing the impossible.

The black car sped through London. It had only just entered the city fifteen minutes before Anderson had woken up.

The forensics expert began to wonder why a man would go to the trouble of kidnapping him from the outskirts of London to drive him back into the city for a hostile meet-and-greet.

Would it not have been easier to kidnap Anderson before work?

Did the man take pleasure it forcing people to ask abnormal questions?

Anderson was caught up in watching the scenery pass by and oblivious to what the scenery actually was. He did not notice when they pulled up in a weathered warehouse, which seemed to have a new wall, until he had stared at the stone wall for a minute and realised that they were not moving.

Fortunately, for him, Anthea had decided that the sedative may not have quite worn off and had walked slowly around to the car door.

Anderson strolled to the front of the warehouse. His befuddlement was gone now that Anthea was more than a meter away and no longer in his line of sight.

The normal, irritated and prickly Anderson was back, and he was not giving way to embarrassment, even though he was wearing a blue bag.

"Mr Matthew Anderson, forensics division of New Scotland Yard and self-proclaimed Arch-Enemy of Sherlock Holmes." The man at the front of the warehouse stated as he read from a small, black journal. "Please take a seat."

The man was almost exactly as Donovan had described him. From his short, raven hair, to his polished, black shoes, the man was definitely Donovan's kidnapper.

One detail, however, was out of place. Donovan had described his umbrella as 'plain and black'; the umbrella he wielded in Anderson's presence was neither.

Clutched, possessively, in the kidnapper's hand was a pinstriped umbrella. It was as dark navy with thin strips of royal blue running vertically down it.

"Ah, yes, Mr Anderson," Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper , as Anderson had decided to dub him, explained upon seeing Anderson's confusion at the umbrella. "Your colleague, Sargent Donovan, must have seen me with a black umbrella. Sherlock stole it."

Anderson raised an eyebrow, standing straight as he ignored the black chair. "Really? What for? I would have thought that you two were on good terms." Anderson questioned sharply.

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper asked. "He considers me his arch-enemy, you know. Such drama, thank goodness that I am above all that."

Anderson snorted as he glanced pointedly around the building before rolling his eyes. "Thank goodness." He stated sarcastically. "Remind me, why am I here? Not that I am not enjoying it."

Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper just raised an eyebrow. "I just wish to know your opinion on Sherlock Holmes that is all, Mr Anderson." He answered calmly.

"He's a lime-light stealing psychopath." Anderson responded with his voice full of irritation. "Oh, wait, sorry. He's a lime-light stealing _high-functioning sociopath_. My mistake. Can I leave now?"

"Of course Mr Anderson, you _may_ leave now." Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper corrected with a slight smirk.

Matthew Anderson stormed back to the car, all the while muttering angrily about 'know-it-all kidnappers', 'out-of-date jokes' and 'the Matrix'.

Anderson returned to the car in a sulk, and Agent-Smith-the-Kidnapper quickly texted Anthea.

_'He is getting on my nerves; do you remember the exact location you collected him from?'-MH_

_'No, sir, and I doubt the driver does. We seem to have run out of competent chauffeurs.'-A_

_'What a shame. Drop off Mr Anderson as close to the crime-scene as you can.'-MH_

With his covert orders relayed, Mycroft Holmes watched the black car exit the warehouse. He snapped his fingers and a suit-clad figure retrieved the chair.

With one last content smirk, Mycroft exited the warehouse, with the suit-clad man hot on his heels.

**Forty to Fifty Minutes Later…**

After an uneventful drive a black-car pulled up on a country lane, just before a fork in the road. A dark-haired woman got out and opened the opposite car door. A figure stepped out.

After a quick explanation, which consisted of blatant lies, the figure was left fuming as the black car drove away.

The figure, who was wearing what appeared to be a sky-blue sack, fished a phone out of his breast pocket.

After discovering that he had two missed calls from his boss and one from his colleague, the man read his new texts.

_'Anderson, Sherlock is gone. You can get back to work'-GL_

_'The Freak's gone, you can come back now.'-SD_

_'Anderson, where are you? Get back to the crime-scene!'-GL_

_'Has the weirdo kidnapped you? I'll keep Lestrade off your back. If you weren't kidnapped you owe me!'-SD_

The fifth text message was sinister and, after today's events, Anderson was inclined to comply with its instructions.

_'Stop your pointless feud with Sherlock Holmes, it will only end in worse than tears.'-M_

After twirling around on the spot, which made him look even more ridiculous, Anderson began the long trek up the hill towards the farmhouse.

Anderson knew two things. He was definitely filing a complaint, and not even the government could stop him arresting the mysterious 'M'.

With far too much time on his hands (or maybe it was the spinning that did it?), Anderson remembered exactly which comment had set Sherlock Holmes off.

Never insult the Holmes' Mother.

**Thank You for reading!**

**Next Time: The Falafel Case and Anderson's Complaint.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I am back! Sorry about the delay. I know it has been a month, but seriously, I had no idea what to write. Any way, enjoy!  
P.S. No Mycroft this chapter**

**Thank you everyone! For reviewing, favouriting and following!  
Review Responses:**

**Saavikam69****- I completely agree with you. Never insult mom. Here is the falafel case. Thank you for reviewing. Enjoy!**

**Childatheart28****-Anderson is most definitely delusional in that area. Thanks for reviewing! I hope you like the next chapter.**

**49478****-Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy the story!**

**DetectiveSilence****-Thanks! Yeah, Mycroft is pretty cool. Enjoy!**

**The Falafel Case**

Regular_  
Past  
__**Writing**_

**April 6****th****-Day 4**

**_Police Report  
Sargent Sally Donovan  
A man has been kidnapping unsuspecting people. The victims have all described the perpetrator as having short, black hair and green eyes. The man has been noted to wear a black suit and dark-coloured tie. It is unknown as to whether the perpetrator would ever willingly part with his, normally black, umbrella. The victims include…_**

**_Police Report  
Matthew Anderson  
…I, Sargent Sally Donovan and Miss Molly Hooper have all been kidnapped by the man. The perpetrator has used unorthodox methods, such as forcefully injecting sedatives, and blackmail. The man asks about Sherlock Holmes and has attempted to bribe Miss Hooper. The perpetrator's accomplice goes by the false name of 'Anthea'. This man and all associates should be labelled highly dangerous._**

**April 7****th****-Day 5**

Lestrade sighed as he flicked through the Police Reports on his desk. It seemed that Anderson and Donovan had found a way to stir up even more trouble. They already refused to cooperate with Sherlock Holmes on the Falafel Case, which Sherlock had solved two hours ago, by constantly attempting to contradict his correct deductions.

Lestrade was sick of it.

He had been run ragged by the complications that ensued from the Falafel Case. See, he had approached the situation optimistically, certain it would be an open and shut case. How wrong he had been.

_It did not take Sherlock Holmes to see the plain and obvious links between the victims. They had all bought falafels at the same health-food store and died almost twenty-four hours after consuming them. Lestrade was relieved, as it took little detective work to narrow the suspects down from twenty to three, the only employees with shifts on the days when the victims bought their falafels. One of the suspects was ill for two of the four days and she was ruled out. One of the other two suspects had a previous history of crime and was in charge of the deli on those days._

_Everything had been fine. Lestrade had had a primary suspect and was willing to ignore the lack of motive. The case was almost open and shut._

_Then the secondary suspect had called in Sherlock Holmes._

_With no other links between the victims, Lestrade was certain that the police's judgment was the correct one. _

_The first victim was a banker who lived in Chelsea, the second a secretary who lived in Greenwich, the third a technician from South Bank, and the last was a minor politician who lived in Hackney. _

_They were completely unrelated deaths. The only links were the falafels and the identical poison found in their blood streams._

_Unfortunately, Sherlock Holmes managed to find something else that tied the victims together. After searching through their receipts, he discovered that they had all made purchases at 'Fen's Furniture'. He questioned neighbours and friends of the victims about the pieces of furniture._

_As it turned out, all the victims had been planning on refunding the furniture. They were dead before they could go through with their intentions._

_After a visit to the store, Sherlock deduced that Fen's youngest sister was dying of brain cancer and that he had started the business in order to earn enough money for the surgery. A refund would have lost him valuable money and would have decreased the credibility of his store. Fen was immediately put on the suspect list._

_Seconds later Sherlock knocked him off._

_Their suspect list was blank again._

_With the police on his tail, Sherlock headed to Saint Bartholomew's Hospital and accessed the morgue. A quick scan of the bodies revealed small prick marks on the shoulders of the banker and the politician. On the necks of the secretary and the technician the same marks were visible._

_Sherlock deduced that the pinpricks were just that, pricks made by a pin. Well a needle was what he actually said, but close enough._

_The falafels were not to blame, someone had injected the poison._

_Lestrade was furious with the autopsy department. He had a right to be, valuable evidence was missed due to their inobservant behaviour._

_After a quick chat with those of Fen's extended family that lived in London (6 cousins, 4 brothers, 2 sisters, 4 grandparents, 7 nieces, 5 nephews, 4 aunts, 4 uncles and 2 parents) Sherlock deduced that it was Fen's two older brothers. The two brothers were unemployed and had no honest means to attain money to help their little sister. Whilst the other siblings had done their earning legally, the two brothers had decided to make sure that the businesses thrived._

_Their personal job description included stalking all of Fen's buyers and making sure that none of them tried to refund. Using their proficiency in hacking and burglary the two brothers planted bugs around the apartment blocks and monitored the buyers email._

_As soon as they mentioned refunding the furniture, they went on the brothers' murder list._

_The brothers would then send them a coupon for the health-food store's falafels. If they did not even mention using the coupon the brothers would send one to one of their friends. The brothers were lucky that all their victims took the coupon._

_After the victims ate the falafels the brothers would break into their apartment before they returned and trip them up. They made sure that the victims would fall with enough force to knock them out. They brothers would then inject the slow-acting poison and leave with no one the wiser._

_Sherlock quickly deduced the next victim and caught the brothers in the act. As it turned out they were working for Moriarty, who was paying them a large sum of money for each kill._

_Murders? Check. Motives? Check. Confession? Check._

_Once again, Lestrade was proved wrong by Sherlock Holmes._

Now though, Lestrade had another case. It was befuddling and seemed more like a giant prank, not a case. There were several missing pieces of construction equipment, a wall covered in pink spray-paint, an escaped penguin and a giant, defunct sprinkler machine.

He had no-one to blame.

That was until Sherlock waltzed in with John at his heels. The two claimed full responsibility and left a phone number. The phone number apparently would explain the reason behind the chaos.

Lestrade had not had a chance to call it yet.

He had, however, mentioned the kidnapping of various people to the duo. Sherlock smirked and did not answer. John just said _"You might be next. He's not too bad, just a little intimidating."_

_"Wait," _Lestrade had responded. _"You know him?"_

_"Not well, I was kidnapped too."_

_"Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"_

John just smiled apologetically. _"Good luck."_

The detective and his blogger had then left, leaving Lestrade with a headache, a phone number, and paperwork.

Let me revise that, a literal room full of paperwork.

Lestrade just knew that it was going to be a long week.

**Do you want to hear more about 'The Incident'(The paint, the sprinkler, Mycroft's Umbrella)?**

**Next Time: Mrs Hudson**


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